


i'll be good

by ghostgay



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Angst, Bad Writing, Child Abuse, Drinking, M/M, i apologize to any readers, this is trash tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostgay/pseuds/ghostgay
Summary: Rich is still haunted by his past. Always has, always will be. He was broken too many promises to count. Many of them consisted of the same phrase.





	i'll be good

Rich stared at the mirror, seeing the large bags under his eyes and disheveled hair. He looked horrible, like complete shit. He glanced away from himself to see the sleeping form in bed. It had been another one night stand. He had been having a lot of them lately. He would show up in a bar and take a different person home every night. Guy or girl. It was like he just stopped caring. Something happened that caused him to be like this. He just couldn't figure out what.

Sighing, he got dressed, carefully not to wake up whoever was that bed. Rich wandered down the stairs, looking for something to drink. He raided the fridge, finding some nicely aged rum. Grabbing a small glass, he poured some out before downing the drink whole despite not being a shot. Sucking at his teeth, he pulled on his coat and shoes before walking out the door. Rich watched the snow fall quietly as he had his head down, walking to his house. His house wasn't home. His father was there, never letting it become home. His past had been dark, abuse and abandonment highlighting most of his childhood. It was all fine until his mom died. That's when his father when downhill. 

He had been an alcoholic before but his mom changed that dark man he was before. His father became a family man, he loved his son and he loved his wife. But it all changed after she died. He went back to his old, malicious ways. He beat Rich, he broke Rich. He had fucked him up in more ways than one. He made his son be more like a shell of the lively kid he used to be. He looked to much like his mother, according to his older brother, and that made him get the worse beatings. He had her short stature, her dirty blonde hair, and her His brother, who reminded Rich too much of his father, moved in with a friend at age sixteen, leaving him to fend for himself. He was forced to do all of the chores. Clean the house, do the laundry, make dinner for his father and not for him, then stay in his bedroom for the rest of the day. It was routine. Just how his father liked it. He had to listen to his father if he wanted to survive.

Rich had once ended up in the hospital because his father had beaten him to a bloody pulp. He had to lie and say he was just beaten by some really big kids. His father had cause his once vivacious son into a soulless asshole. He had become cold, merciless. Rich had began bullying kids to deal with his own pain. It was how he coped. He had to find a way to cope. He didn't need his father to find him crying. That would make him a sissy. That's all he was. A big sissy who couldn't stand up to his own father.

A sissy.

A baby.

A kid.

A kid who was beaten and abused ever since he was eight. A kid who now slept with everyone he met and never understood the meaning of love. True, pure love.

There was this one kid he had met that seemed to send sparks through his heart, but he learned how to stomp them out. That kid became Rich's main target. He had made Rich feel things he wasn't used to. He broke the routine. Rich didn't want that routine to break. So the way he dealt? He practically bullied and fucked with that kid whenever he had the chance. He brought that kid many bruises and tears. So many bruises and tears. It was how he coped. It was how he tried to mend himself. He tried to make others feel pain he couldn't describe. He never let anyone in, wielding a iron fist.

The one kid he trusted, he hurt. He had set a fire in his home and killed his only friend. The only person who knew what was happening at home. Just because he wanted to die. It was all his fault. His friend's blood was now on his hands. Only his. Despite just being one person, it seemed like so much. It terrified him. He promised his friend he would be good. He would be kind to make up for all the times he wasn't. And he would continue loving the world like he should. But it ended up being an empty promise and it broke Rich. That was why he never let anyone in anymore. He would just end up hurting them. Like his friend. Like that kid who sent sparks through him. His past was bitter, but it made him who he was. Cold, merciless, mean, sleazy. Now out of highschool, he coped by fucking anyone who was willing. He had slept with so many people, he could barely remember them. It was all a blur. Drinks, car, house, sex, morning. It was routine.

Rich looked up, seeing a worn down condo, his house. Pulling the key out his pocket, he unlocked the door, met with silence. Just like always. He walked into the spotless house, locking the door behind him and checking all the window. It was a bad neighborhood. Always has, always will.

Suddenly, a voice boomed in his head causing him to jump. It was his late father's voice. Yelling at him to start cleaning like that bitch he was. Upon hearing this, Rich took off his coat and began cleaning. He could still hear the old T.V. playing and his ghostly figure of a father drinking on a stained couch. His father may no longer be there physically but he will always be in his son's mind. Suddenly, all the breath left him as if he was punched in the gut. There was no pain, just all his breath left him. Just like when he said no the first time. His father walked up to him and shoved a fist into his stomach, asking him to repeat that. When he replied with no, his father hit his beer bottle of his head, causing his son to cry one simple phrase out.

"I'll be good." Rich whispered, wiping the tears from his eyes and continuing to sweep.

Just like always. Just like routine.

Just how his father liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i'm adian and you've finished reading one of the shittiest works to ever exist. i have no clue what i'm doing, but kudos and comments are appreciated, i guess.


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